


His And Mine Alone

by Triddlegrl



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: (Not Steve & Tony), Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Boys In Love, Fluff and Humor, Infidelity, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 02:04:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19122367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Triddlegrl/pseuds/Triddlegrl
Summary: The one where Tony left that small Georgia town and Steve Rogers far behind him, and then turns around. It could also be known as Rhodey made Tony an Ultimate Reunion Playlist and now his life has completely derailed. The record should show that Tony owns aprivatejet and does not take public transportation, midnight or otherwise.





	His And Mine Alone

**Author's Note:**

> I got the idea for this a while back while on a train go figure, and it has just been sitting on my computer for the longest. It is meant to be part of a series, but can be read as a stand alone. I may continue as time permits if folks are interested. I can only imagine what Sarah wants Tony to take back with him :P

The sight of a truck coming down the curved dirt road could very well have been a mirage or a symptom of the heat stroke that Tony was sure he was having but fuck if he cared. He’d been stranded on the side of the road for an hour going on six years with no sign of another soul. And while he may have managed to forget to check the car for a spare when he’d picked it up from the rental, he hadn’t forgotten how remote the back roads were around here. Here being the bumfuck middle of nowhere Georgia. 

Would anyone believe it was _the_ Tony Stark standing there with his thumb jutted out desperate to hitch a ride? No. Was it his most dignified moment ever? Fuck no. But It could be hours before another car passed by this way, so fuck dignity. Tony would have lain down in the middle of the road in his bespoke suit if he had to as long as the truck stopped for him.  

Thankfully that wasn’t necessary. The (honest to fuck) purple pickup slowed as it came around the bend and came to a stop just before it tapped the bumper of the last rusty bucket of wheels available for rent this far out from Savannah. The driver was had short blond hair and the tool bag was wearing a black t-shirt along with his shades, despite the fact that this was Georgia and it was  _hot_ , but questionable fashion sense aside at least he had working air conditioning. The guy rolled his window down letting out a blast of cool air. 

“Oh thank fuck. Jus’ give me a minute.” Tony all but moaned as he fell against the car sticking his head inside the open window and as close to the vents as he could reach on the tip-toes of his feet. Again, who gave a fuck about dignity when it was this hot. When he got back to New York he was going to kill Rhodey. 

“Tony Fucking Stark.”  the guy drawled, country as you please, apparently having no trouble whatsoever believing it was really Tony with his ass hanging out his window. “Tell me how it is a guy can build a fucking robot, but can’t figure out how to change a tire?” 

Tony dragged his head up and blinked owlishly as the familiarity in that obnoxious drawl fully sank in. He’d been so busy drinking in the blessedly cool waves of air washing over his face, that it took him a moment to realize he recognized his rescuer. They hadn't gone to high school together because Tony's a genius and graduated when he was fourteen years old, but Tony had hung around with the local football team because... actually no. Nope. Best not to go down that road.

“Clint? Clint Barton!” Tony sighed, wincing a moment later at the way the shirt under his blazer stuck to the sweat drying on his back. “You know I never thought I’d be so glad to see you again, but I stand corrected. And to answer your question, you can’t change a tire if you don’t have anything to change it with. I can’t believe the rental place didn’t include a spare.” Barton smirked at him, obviously knowing something Tony didn’t.  

“Old Marley was losing his memory when we were kids Tony, he’s almost completely senile now.” Clint remarked with something of an evil grin. But he was kind enough to push open the door of his truck and Tony stepped back. “He’s got his grandson helping out on weekends now. But this is definitely not a weekend.”   

“Yeah, no shit,” Tony grumbled as he went to fetch his suit cases from the back of the rental. Barton of course didn’t deign to lend him a helping hand. No biggie. He had this. He was just sweating through a suit that cost more than Barton’s stupid truck but whatever. By the time Tony clamored inside the passenger's seat his shirt was soaked through and he’d ditched his ridiculously expensive blazer in the dirt somewhere under the truck. He’d never liked this suit much anyway. 

“Thanks for the help asshole.” Tony huffed as he shut the door behind him and Barton just shrugged before throwing the truck into gear and pulling away from the side of the road.  

“I could always leave you on the side of the road if you’d like. Good luck finding another ride out here.” 

Alright. So what is Tony Stark, billionaire, philanthropist, and reformed playboy (thank you very much) doing  here you ask? Here being  a dirt road in the middle of Georgia instead of tucked into his luxurious bed beside his smoking hot fiancé eating flavored ice chips off his chest .  Or  _something_  (it’s hot okay).  

The answer to that question (and many others) is complicated, but the simplified version is it’s all Rhodey’s fault. 

Sunday night, Tony got  _the call_  at around 11:30 PM. He would have gotten it sooner , except he’d been in the middle of a serious bout of engineering in his lab and had lost track of his phone .   Which had forced Pepper to call Rhodey, who’d come all the way to the tower to break the news that Sarah Rogers was trying to get in touch with him.  She’d called to let him  know  that  she didn’t have long  left and that she  had something she wanted to give him.  Apparently, it  was important, valuable , and  in her words big as fuck and too heavy  to mail so, “ _you tell that boy if he’s not too proud to humor an old woman before the good lord takes her, we’ll be expecting him down here on the farm_.” 

What farm? You wonder. Who is Sarah Rogers? Good questions. But all in good time.  

So you’ve trolled the society pages and the magazines for information on Tony and you’ve probably come to the conclusion that he’s from Manhattan, because that’s exactly the illusion he pays his expert public relations team to perpetuate. If you’re particularly savvy (not to mention in need of better hobbies) you may have traced him back to Boston where he went to private school in his formative years, and lingered several years after graduating from MIT in his late teens. 

If you’re an outright stalker (or just unfortunate enough to have been born in the quaintest most bygone area of the great state of Georgia you can imagine) then you know the truth.  

Thirty-seven years ago Tony Stark was born in Grandpasville Georgia otherwise known as Richardsville. Tony’s great grandfather Richard Stark kind of founded the town so Tony’s even more famous there than he is elsewhere, and not in a pleasant way. The story is, the big family plantation had fed the economy of most the county in his grandfather’s day, so the good folks who’d settled there figured the least they could do was name the little one road town that sprang up around it after him.  

Thank god they’d gone with the first name. It had been bad enough growing up there as it was, Tony couldn’t imagine how much worse it would have been if the family name was on the goddamn map. Starksville USA. No thank you. 

Ok, he wasn’t being entirely fair. There had been good things about spending part of his year in Richardsville. Ma Rogers for one.  A more amazing woman does not exist. She’d run the little clinic in town with Doc Connors for as long as Tony could remember and had been a part time nurse over at the youth home just as long.  

Sarah Rogers was the kind of woman who always had an ear and a kind word, but could make you confess your every sin with just one of her stern looks. She was also pretty well known for opening her home to every lost soul she came across and wouldn’t hear of being called anything but Ma once you crossed her threshold. 

Tony can admit that he was a pretty lost soul as a kid. Too smart and too bored for his own good. Always stuck at home all summer while his parents gallivanted off to parts unknown, because apparently the months while Tony was away at boarding school wasn’t enough time away from him.  

Sarah Rogers always had time for him, and her door had always been open. So even though Tony kissed Richardsville goodbye fifteen years ago and has a strict no contact policy when it comes to unwelcome blasts from the past, Rhodey brought him the message anyway. All it takes is one phone call and a 'you tell that boy to come on home now' and Tony’s telling Pepper to cancel all his meetings and trying to explain to his fiancé why he needs to gallivant off to Georgia on a dime. 

Ty hadn’t really understood why Tony couldn’t just send flowers and pay for whatever trinket Sarah wanted to give him to be shipped, so needless to say  _he’s_  back in New York where it isn’t one hundred degrees out, probably sipping champagne by the poolside. 

Rhodey had offered to come with because he’s a good friend, but Tony had declined, privately grateful that nobody he cared about was going to be watching on while he faced all his old demons. 

The cancer has been the work of a few years struggle now, so it wasn’t like Tony hadn’t known in the back of his mind that this day would come. So why is he dreading this so much? 

There’s no getting around it.  You’ve gotta know. Okay, look. There was one other good thing about Tony’s childhood in Grandpa Town, and his name is Steve Rogers.  

Steve Rogers, former captain of the football team, local army hero, not to mention Sarah’s only blood child. So Tony was well aware there’s a good chance he was about to see Steve again after fifteen years of purposefully  _not_ seeing Steve. Which wouldn’t be such a big deal if the guy hadn’t basically been the love of Tony’s life once upon a time (back when he was a stupid kid who believed in things like that) and if said guy hadn’t also completely smashed Tony’s heart to smithereens before he skipped off to basic. 

Tony really  _really_ doesn’t want to do this, the whole ‘see Steve again’ thing, but he can’t ignore Sarah’s summons after everything she did for him, so  Tony had maned up and  hit the road. Rhodey  had  even  made  him  a travel playlist  to help with the nerves because he’s a real bro like that. Only when Tony  had boarded his jet and keyed up  the very first track on the so called, 'Ultimate Reunion Playlist,'  the first few chords had him  cringing  so bad he’d  jabbed  the next button before Gladys Knight could even belt out the  first midnight train. 

Rhodey is an asshole. 

And that’s the reason Tony Stark is on the side of the road in bum fuck nowhere, hitching a ride from Clint Barton. Because if Rhodey had been less of a real friend he never would have brought Tony Sarah’s message in the first place; and if he’d been a  _better_ friend he would have ditched his stupid pilot seminar and insisted on coming with.  _He’d_ never forget to check the rental for a spare tire. 

~*~ 

Steve’s Ma had always had this old saying, about not borrowing worry from tomorrow. Which he guessed was supposed to mean not to bring on more trouble than you needed to by stressing over things that hadn't happened yet.  

It was good advice.  

But like so much of Sarah Rogers wisdom it was wasted on her youngest child.  Steve had done nothing but borrow worry as he’d sped down the long and lonely stretch of highway between Boston and Richardsville Georgia, a little town about fifty miles outside of Savanah that nobody had ever heard of unless they’d escaped from it. 

He guessed he could say he was one of the lucky ones, though Steve had never been one of those kid’s eager to leave town as soon as he was able and never look back. That had come later. There had been a time when he’d have been very happy staying put in Richardsville, but those days dreams had gone up in smoke a long time ago, and the reason for that was currently waiting at the Pembrook Hospital where his mother was being treated for Hodgkin's.  

She'd been sick for a couple of years now, but Sarah Rogers had never been the type of woman to let anything slow her down. She still kept up with her work as a nurse at the Youth Home in Pembrook and never missed a Sunday at church. When she’d gone into remission it had almost seemed expected – like of course, she was going to get better – and Steve had almost let himself breathe again and think about things getting back to normal. 

But the cancer had come back, and come back with a vengeance. Ma got weak again twice as fast this time around and it seemed to him that the chemo was harder on her body and helped less. He hadn’t wanted to take the trip to Boston at all with her still going through treatment but she wouldn’t hear of him staying and passing up the opportunity he’d been working so hard for all year.  

Steve had gotten the call just after eight p.m. the night before. The picture of the cyborg flashing on his screen (Sam’s idea of a joke) had brought an ominous chill he couldn’t explain, but he’d somehow just known.  

“You need to come home,” Bucky had urged before Steve could even say hello. “Ma’s not doing well.” 

That’s when Steve had learned that Sarah had stopped chemo two weeks back. 

“Why didn’t she tell me? Why didn’t _you_  tell me?” Steve had demanded, already throwing things into the back of his truck, but he’d already known the answer even before he asked. 

“She didn’t want you to give up the deal with Xavier. You get it done?” 

“Yeah,” Steve had answered, the fight draining out of him. What had once filled him with so much pride and a sense of accomplishment now felt hollow. “Still have to do the paperwork, but it’s done. We got the contract.” 

Ma hadn’t been wrong. He’d have given it up if she’d only told him. 

“That’s good, Stevie. Now come on home.” Bucky’s voice had been soft but firm in his ear, guiding him like some sort of north star when it was too hard to see through the dark of his worry and the anticipation of grief. And then Bucky’s breath had hitched, a telling hesitation behind his sigh before he’d dropped the final bomb. 

“Stark’s here. You should know that. I told him to fuck off but Ma… well you know how she is.” 

Steve did know. He was her only child by blood but Steve had never made the mistake of thinking himself alone. Her whole life Sarah Rogers had been taking care of others and providing shelter to the less fortunate, even when they didn’t have a penny to spare for new shoes or to fix a broken heater in winter. Steve had been five when an accident at the mill had killed his father along with Mr. Barnes. Bucky’s mother had taken it hard and never really managed to get back up again.  

Sarah had volunteered to watch Bucky and his sister Laura after school, and that had been the start of a long-standing tradition of coming home at night to find another place set at the table only for Ma to announce they would have a guest for however long it suited her. 

Some like Bucky, Laura, and Sam had stuck; but most of them were overflow from when there weren’t enough beds at the youth shelter and they didn’t stay long. Even so, while they were under her roof Sarah had always insisted on being called mom. And it had hurt her that she couldn’t do more than offer a temporary respite on their little farm. He’d seen her hide enough crayon drawings up in that box she didn’t think they knew about, to know that those other kids had a piece of her and always would. 

Steve had never minded. There had always been enough of Ma to go around. Tony Stark had been no different. Steve had been so grateful for that once. Still was if he were honest. He wasn’t that petty, to deny Tony a chance to say goodbye just because they hadn’t worked out, but he hadn’t seen Tony Stark in years and seeing him again, now, like this ... Steve didn’t know if he was ready for it. 

He gripped his hand tighter on the wheel and let his foot press heavier on the gas. Ready or not, some things just came your way and there was nothing to do but meet them head on. 


End file.
